The Girl Swan
by lil miss bella cullen
Summary: One-Shot: Descpription of Bella and Edward's life in Elizabethan England. He was a musician, lover, storyteller through music, and she was his inspiration, his reason for being, his girl Swan.


**THE GIRL SWAN**

**Hello readers! I am finally back from my writing hibernation, and i hope to be back with a bang! This here one-shot is a little something I wanted to try, a descriptive piece with no speech. It is different to anything I have ever done, and I want to know what you think of the style and everything else! I might make a collection and take different points in the lives of this Edward and Bella, but I will only do that if people ask for it! This is copyrighted, and my disclaimer : I don't own Twilight or any characters related, but I do own the storyline and the children of my Bellward. This storyline was taken from an essay I wrote for my English folio but I changed bits and pieces to make it fit. In all honesty I had these characters in my head, not the ones I was supposed to be writing about, OOPS! Haha, well enjoy and please let me know what you think! Thanks, LMBC xxx**

If you saw her and him, together for some time, you wouldn't be able to take your eyes away from them. The silent harmonies their souls sang and the unison of their beating hearts sounded loudly in your ears; the melodies intricate yet simple, poignant and love-filled. Her eyes only searched the human seas for him; his voice spoke devoted words for her. Together they breathed for each other. He was Edward Anthony Cullen; musician, devoted husband, romantic, but who was she? She, who encouraged, inspired and adored him? She was the girl Swan. Born and bred in a small town, sole daughter of Charles and Renee; a respected couple in the town. She was the gracious hostess who met you at the door, food waiting on the table and clean sheets on the best beds. She was the mother figure to all who needed a loving touch and she was the sole reason Shakespeare smiled.

He was a composer, storyteller through sound, an entertainer, but she brought glittering life to the music he made. At many gatherings, held for guests in the private confines of his home, Edward would play certain sections of his latest creations, both beautiful and brilliant, and though she never spoke, the girl Swan's eyes never strayed from his face. She marvelled his lips, his eyes, his smile, and his tears, listening to the music which fell often like bittersweet chocolate from his talented hands as they caressed the ivory keys of his piano. One gathering in particular grasped his audience's attention; he had warned his guests that he had yet to finish his latest craft but even with the notes so bare and unfinished; the sounds brought a collective chill through all those who were listening. However, what made this hearing so special was that the girl Swan sang with him, silently copying him, her crystal tears falling as he took his breaths. Her appreciative smile and silence captured everyone's attention. Soon after, she departed from the men's company and took herself to bed. Edward watched after her lovingly, but soon engrossed himself in the conversations that danced around the room.

Now if you returned many years later; when countless cantatas, arias and other scores of music had been completed after meticulous planning, construction and the final bricks laid, you would find a family. Wedding bells had chimed, newborns' cries had been heard and the family, presently convened in the main room, now consisting of three children and the girl Swan. However, the girl Swan was no longer a girl; she was an adult, a mother, a woman. She looked on as her children frolicked, the little foals whinnying in delight as the played. Notice though, that one is missing. Lying in bed, Edward worked on his final song, knowing it would be his last, and listening to guests' chatter and family's murmur in a room not far from his. He pictured his wife, his soul-mate, her oval face, pale complexion, warm brown hair and chocolate orbs for eyes. Her lips, his second favourite feature of hers after her eyes, were strawberry red against her ivory skin, and her cheeks; pale pink rose petals. He was becoming weaker as the hours passed, and he knew he had very little time left in his world. The woman Swan repeatedly assured both him and herself that everything would be okay, and that there was no reason to be afraid. She tended to him as the fever, a raging fire, tore through his body. Anthony, his only son, told him stories and his daughters, Sara and Grace, acted for him and sang sweet songs. The woman Swan's lullaby could be heard at all hours, soothing all those in the house; people who wished to see Edward off into the new world which awaited him. Cocooned in his sheets, he knew his time was coming, and he alerted her. Propped up, he studied the bed in which he laid waiting. It was neither grand nor expensive, or the most comfortable, but t was his safe haven; the place he stayed before starting his journeys into the unknown. In the past, when he had been writing, he would stay in this bed so as not to keep his beloved from sleep, but more often than not, she would join him and listen to his ideas. This bed, for him, signified everything good in their relationship: safe, warm and always love-filled. He felt himself slipping away, and to his audience it was clear that he was starting his transition to a better place, one where his heart, mind and soul would always live on. His eyes began to close slowly, the curtains being drawn to end the final show. There would be no encore, no more performances, only what the spectators saw before them. Tears pooled and fell from her eyes, love and loss joining as one in water form. She sobbed for many hours, releasing all her emotions in heart-wrenching cries of pain, her body draped protectively over his, wishing for him to come back; never had she acted in such a way before in her life. In that period of time, those few mourning hours, the woman Swan became the widow Swan.

Five years later, when the children were leaving home to start families of their own, the widow Swan still wore black. Her dresses were simple, her hair plain, her face drawn and haggard from many sleepless nights. She never stopped mourning for her dead husband, even after so long. No music was ever played in the Cullen household, no laughter sounded whilst the widow was around. Many had tried and failed to revive her from the zombie-like state in which she lived her life, she was unresponsive. No man could woo her; no woman succeeded in befriending her, no child of hers could make her smile. All who knew her came to accept that she would not move on. She would be forever stuck with the widow's title; she couldn't imagine a future without him. Every night she slept in his deathbed, reliving that day which changed her from a young woman to a widow old for her years. Sleeping where he lay in his final hours, she would recite his words, his writings, his thoughts, to send her to sleep, shedding few tears; for they had all been shed before. She had grown so quickly, too quickly some might say, into a woman, and was widowed too early. A young lady is not built to cope with such dramatic changes; she was a prime example. Never did she forget him, stop missing him, or ever cease to love him; their bond was too strong to break.

Many more years came and went, with little change to the widow Swan, apart from changes to her health, which deteriorated rapidly in her final years. She grew ill, her family caring for her, she was bad-ridden and she demanded she stay in the second best did as her husband had before her. It was noted at the time that she became mad towards the end. She would sit and talk to herself, but she saw her Edward. She told those who'd listen that he had come to take her to the world that awaited her and that she was not afraid, only happy to finally see him once again. It was the first time in over a decade that she had smiled properly, even if it was derived from madness. Her family's hearts were broken repeatedly as she whispered his name, over and over, begging to end her pain and take her to him. They watched as the light faded behind her eyes as she examined the bed she was in. she knew vaguely that she was passing on to another place, but she was not scared and assured her family they shouldn't be either. Reluctantly, they bade farewell to the widow Hathaway as her lids fell shut, the windows to her mind and soul closing for the last time, never to open again and show the world what was to be seen.

Three days after her passing, she was buried next to her husband, and her family cried. They cried for the memories of her smile, the memories of her tears, but most of all they cried with happiness that she was finally with him, who she loved the most. Her coffin was similar to his, simple, inexpensive but not uncomfortable. Her son and daughters said it resembled the bed which they shared in their deaths, and that it linked them together more tightly as they lay next to each other underground. The small congregation that gathered to see her passing watched as the earth covered her final resting place, and they all felt at peace to see her at peace finally after the years of solitude. It was said by all, and everyone would agree, together they would be and always should be remembered as the young couple, him and her, in love and happy. Him Edward Anthony Cullen; musician, devoted husband, loving father, romantic, and her; his inspiration, his reason for being, his girl Swan.

**Hope you liked it! Please review guys and girls!**


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